


The Princess and The Pauper

by mjonesing (klassmartin)



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Arranged Marriage with a twist, Based on one too many listens of Rewrite the Stars, Betrayal, F/M, Fake Marriage, I see your fake dating and raise you, Princes & Princesses, Secret Relationship, Secrets, So much angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:35:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28441014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klassmartin/pseuds/mjonesing
Summary: Michelle is just seven years old when she becomes engaged to be married. For the sake of her family's kingdom and the future of their people, her body is sold to the neighbouring monarchy and their next in line for the throne.Her heart and her mind will never be anyone's but her own.------Or: A life bound to family, duty, and honour - and what it takes to risk it all for love.
Relationships: Michelle Jones & Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Comments: 21
Kudos: 35





	The Princess and The Pauper

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MichellesBoh (michellesbohh)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/michellesbohh/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY RENEE!
> 
> Ah I can't believe this day is here! This story has been a long time coming, built entirely from one conversation about The Greatest Showman that put a potential what-if in my head and snowballed into this monstrosity. Rewrite the Stars is a major influence for the plot, as is Secret Love Song by Little Mix (help, I'm so obsessed with that song) and, of course, from Taylor Swift's mind - illicit affairs and ivy.
> 
> Renee, I think it's clear by now how much I adore you. I am so very grateful to whatever it was that led you to my inbox that fateful day in June, and for everything that came after that. There are not enough words in any language to express how incredible and kind and sweet you are, so I'm not going to try - but know I appreciate you so very much. I'm sending a thousand hugs across the ocean, and also an apology for expressing my love for you in the form of such intense angst.
> 
> I know so very little about the possible eras this could be based in, so don't even bother trying to place it in history. It's a completely different universe in which things are old but who cares how old?

Michelle is just seven years old when she becomes engaged to be married. For the sake of her family's kingdom and the future of their people, her body is sold to the neighbouring monarchy and their next in line for the throne.

Her heart and her mind will never be anyone's but her own.

This is the promise she makes the night she finds out her future has been taken away. She sobs into her mother's arms, a woman who knows only too well what her daughter is to be subjected to. Little Michelle declares it justly unfair that her baby brother will get to be King, despite being four years older, while she can only marry someone she's never even met to be of any worth.

The Queen does not argue. She strokes Michelle's hair and presses her lips against her forehead. 

There are no words capable of easing the child’s pain.

* * *

For five years, Michelle spends her days studying how to be a good wife.

For five years, Michelle spends her nights learning everything she can about the world.

Her thirteenth birthday is to be her first royal ball, and her first official meeting with her husband to be. She spends much of the day trailing after her mother, giving short agreements to the downpour of questions on floral arrangements and icing colours and the order of her favourite compositions. The King reprimands her for sulking and she storms to her quarters in a rage, where she stays until it's time to be dressed in the excess of fine fabric that makes up her gown.

It is a gift from her father. All she can think about are the poorest of their people, struggling to survive while she makes her grand, orchestrated entrance into the ballroom with its walls painted in gold.

Her first dance is to be with her betrothed. She takes careful steps into the middle of the floor, trying not to shrink away as every pair of eyes falls upon her. There’s a hush that falls upon the room, half waiting for her to fail somehow, the other half hoping for a scandal. The first child of their domineering King making a rare appearance, the weight of the kingdom on her young shoulders as she takes her first steps into a future that has been decided for her.

And then the crowd parts, and out he steps.

The first thing that strikes her is how short he is. In the past year she’d grown far more than her mother could take, swapping out the fashionable heels for flats that were concealed by the length of her skirts. Michelle had no problem with this until her governess began trying to teach her how to walk with bended knees, at which point Michelle clambered back into the painful heels and locked herself in her room until her parents relented. 

Now she can see where their concern had come from. He’s at least a head shorter - probably yet to achieve his own pubescent growth spurt - and she’s sure there will be whispers as they dance. He offers her a kind smile and it eases the pit in her stomach to see he’s nervous too. When his hand extends to her, she glimpses the twitch of her father’s brow and she places her fingers gently against his palm. At the very least, they are not sticky with sweat. 

They settle quickly into the rhythm of the music, his hand hesitant against her waist. His dark eyes are fixed on her face and it makes her increasingly uncomfortable. What is it that he sees when he looks upon her? Does he consider her crooked tooth amusing, perhaps, or the tight, stiff curl of her overly styled hair? Does he see how tense her shoulders are whenever she wears her great-grandmother's tiara, too cautious should it slip from its place and shatter against the buffed marble floors beneath her feet?

As they sweep past in a flurry of clunky footsteps, her father fixes her with the firmest look she's only seen him deliver to the knights who fail their missions. She fixes her smile and focuses instead on the music.

Eventually, she is allowed the sweet relief of the final chords. Polite applause echoes around her and she dips gently into her curtsey, her dance partner bowing so low that his fingers stroke the floor. A bubble of laughter forms in her chest and presents as a smirk when he rises and winks.

At the very least, her husband-to-be has a sense of humour. That is, she supposes, of minimal relief. 

* * *

The night continues in torturous fashion as she is pulled across the dance floor by any number of decorated men who want a moment of the young princess's time, and she grins and bears it like her governess has taught her to. 

Moments before midnight, her time to slip away arrives with the beginnings of a ruckus on the other side of the room. A distant Uncle of hers is known for his inability to handle his alcohol, and on many occasions she has heard her mother spit vile words about the man the day after a ball. Unfortunately for her mother and those that have to witness this time and time again, he holds too much power and wealth to be cast out of society.

Fortunately for Michelle, it provides just the right distraction.

She runs into the gardens with the unbridled joy of a young child, gripping her skirts high so she can feel the whispers of the grass brush against her sore ankles. The flowers smell sweet with the promise of morning dew and pass in a blur of reds and pinks and yellows until she spots her sanctuary in the distance; the gleaming glass walls of the royal green house.

The door is heavy as she tugs it open, but she’s seasoned in how to avoid the sharp squeak of the hinges and move just in time to stop the faulty metal latch from cutting into her wrist. She keeps meaning to remind the gardener about it. Perhaps she’ll remember after she takes breakfast in the kitchen tomorrow.

She takes two steps inside before she realises she is not alone. Alarmed, Michelle reaches blindly to the pruning shears stored on the ledge beside her, walking on the soles of her feet to cautiously approach the intruder.

The shadowy figure is hunched over her calla lilies, nose pressed to their centre. She draws her weapon and clears her throat of the fear that encases her with an icy grasp.

“Hands up, sir! State your name and intentions.”

They freeze up, whirring around on her so fast that she thrusts the shears towards them in a frenzy, barely missing their chest when she suddenly realises he is just a boy.

“Mister Parker, ma’am! Please don’t hurt me!”

He’s short, around her age, his clothes too large and faded. His hair curls wildly around his ears and his eyes are two black pools of terror amidst the pale skin of his face, pure white in the light of a full moon. The head of her favourite flower sits crushed in his palm, and despite her youth it fills her with such a fury that she has to grind her teeth to refrain from yelling all the colourful words a lady such as herself is not supposed to know.

“What are you doing in here?” she demands. “How did you get past the guards?”

“I-I’m just a servant in the employ of the royal house of Leeds. The horses needed more water and I was sent to fetch some and - I ended up in here and it’s so _pretty_ that I became distracted and then -” He lifts up his other hand, and for the first time she spots a dirty rag wrapped clumsily around his palm. “I appear to have stung myself on something, perhaps, or maybe caught it on a tool.”

The boy seems sincere in his rambling explanations, enough to allow Michelle to lower the sheers. “You are injured?”

He nods, chewing on his lip as his gaze bounces between her face and her weapon.

She moves back to the entrance of the greenhouse, making quick work of lighting the lantern she keeps tucked beneath a work surface. She moves a pot of geraniums to place the light close to his person, then holds her now ungloved hand out in offering. After a moment he relents, allowing her to unwrap the makeshift bandage. 

It doesn’t take her long to identify the culprit. “It is just a spider bite.”

“Are you sure?” His head is close to hers now, and when she looks up she sees the soft golden tint to his skin from a life spent outdoors, the thin layer of sweat beginning beneath the collar of his shirt that he tugs at, like he’s never worn such a shirt before. In the candlelight she sees his eyes are actually a deep brown, and there’s a silver trail of an old scar just above his right brow.

“I’m quite sure. The pesky things get me all the time.”

“This place is yours?” He looks decently impressed, looking around the space with fresh eyes. “It is very beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she says softly, offering him a hesitant smile as she busies herself fetching supplies. Michelle makes quick work of cleaning his wound, the way he hisses out a breath at her first wipe amusing her. Lacking any other clean material, she unties the sash from her waist and deftly secures it around his palm, tying the ends off into a bow just to make herself happy. “Mister Parker, I dare say you'll live.”

“Peter, please.” He wriggles his fingers with a satisfied sigh. “My apologies, I did not catch yours.”

It is only then that she realises he does not know who she is; that the decadent gown and glittering tiara have somehow not tipped him off to her identity. The laugh bubbles in her chest before she can think better of it.

Peter looks perplexed, and she sobers enough to say, “My name is Michelle.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Michelle.”

“You are a strange boy, Peter Parker.” Michelle considers him, wondering how to broach the subject that has been teasing at her thoughts. “You said you work for the Leeds family?”

“Yes, ma’am. Since I was just a boy.” 

Michelle hums softly and busies herself inspecting the vibrant pink of the geranium’s petals. All she can think of is the way Peter’s cheeks try to mimic the shade, even when she shakes her head. 

“Why do you ask?” he continues when she does not.

She smirks, looking at him from beneath her eyelashes. “Let’s just say I have a vested interest in their kingdom.”

Peter’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, jaw slack as he steps back to finally take in her attire. “You are Ned’s Michelle?”

“I am _not_ Prince Edward’s anything,” she fires back with a sudden bite to her tone. The look on his face makes her swallow down her bitter feelings on the matter. “But yes, he is to be my husband.”

“I…” Peter gapes at her helplessly before falling into a deep unpractised bow. “Please forgive me, Your Highness, for being so informal. I did not realise -”

The genuine sorrow in his eyes softens her, making her afford him a simple forgiveness. “Do not apologise. You were not to know when I said nothing.”

His head tilts, considering, and she exhales softly. Her title and last name have always meant that Michelle is treated a certain way; an impossible pedestal that, for the first time, she had been able to stop clinging to the top of. Now that this boy knows, he will send her straight back up, expecting her to strive even higher due to his innocent mistake.

“He’s been very nervous about meeting you, you know.” She looks away from her fidgeting hands in surprise to see his eyes twinkling with humour. “Don’t tell him I told you, but he asked me to practise dancing with him so he would not make a fool of himself in front of everyone.”

“Oh.” Michelle can’t help the smile that breaks across her face once more. “Well, you must have taught him well. He didn’t step on my toes once.”

“Good. I am happy for your toes - mine were not so fortunate.”

“A noteworthy sacrifice. They shall be forever grateful.”

“As am I.” He waves his bandaged hand awkwardly. “If you find that spider again, please pass on my sincere gratitude for bringing such an unexpected encounter into my otherwise dull evening.”

“My party is not entertaining enough for you?”

“I am sure it’s perfectly pleasant, were I able to enter it.” Peter’s chuckle hangs in the air between them. “Though perhaps not, since you are out here instead of in there.”

“Are you going to tell on me?” But even though she asks, she’s sure he will not; maybe it is just his boyish, easy smile, or that instinctively, inexplicably, he feels trustworthy. 

“Well, considering we are both rulebreakers tonight, I suppose I can let this one slide.”

“Good.” Michelle is chewing on her bottom lip as she tries to repress the excitable smile that wants to engulf her face. “Speaking of the party, I should probably…”

“Of course. I am sorry to have kept you, Your Highness.”

“Call me Michelle, please.” She holds out her hand and Peter fumbles for a moment before taking it in his grasp, bending to graze his lips against her knuckles. Michelle’s breath catches; how can something so regular an occurrence in her life feel so completely brand new in an instant?

“Michelle,” he says softly, tasting the word on his tongue. He grins at her, eyes dancing in the candlelight. “Goodnight, Michelle.”

“Goodnight, Peter.”

Michelle smoothes a hand down the bodice of her gown, nodding as she prepares herself. 

She turns to exit the greenhouse, down a sash but having unknowingly gained so much more.

* * *

_Dear Princess Michelle,_

_It has been only a few hours since my return from your birthday ball. I hope you can accept my sincerest gratitude at allowing me the honour of your first dance, and for inviting me to such a wonderful event. Getting to finally meet you was a moment, I admit, I was very nervous to experience, but you showed me great kindness and put me at ease. I thank you for that._

_The reason I write to you now is from a place of hope. The position we find ourselves in is one all too common for people such as ourselves, but I hope we can prove to deal with this in ways unlike what I have come to see. Marriages such as ours are not forged in a place of love, and can so easily lead to resentment and discontent. I do not wish this on myself, but most of all, I do not wish this to the woman who will rule by my side._

_What I would like, more than anything, is for the two of us to find a path that will lead us to some form of happiness._

_I believe that to be found in amenability. This letter is me reaching out, hoping you will allow me to plant the seed that can take root and grow into a better future for us all._

_The question I believe I am getting to, in a roundabout sort of way is:_

_Would you like to be my friend?_

_Yours faithfully, eternally,_

_Prince Edward Leeds_

* * *

_~~Dear Prince Edward~~ ~~Edward,~~ ~~Y~~_ _ ~~our Highness~~_ ,

~~_What kind of question is this?_ ~~

~~_How am I to respond to such a_ ~~

~~_Tell me of your s_ ~~

~~_Thank you for your letter, though I do not understa_ ~~

~~_I do not intend on this process being an easy one, and you might be best_ ~~

~~_Your dancing was not terrible but you could afford a moment or two working on your_ ~~

~~_No. I would not._ ~~

~~_Never Yours,_ ~~

_~~Princess Mich~~ ~~Mi~~ ~~P~~ _

* * *

_Dear Prince Edward,_

_I would be open to your request._

_I shall expect your letter each Thursday morning. I hope you can prove to be as interesting a person as your dancing might suggest._

_Yours,_

_Michelle_

* * *

“Michelle? Michelle!” 

With a splutter and a cough, Michelle jolts up in bed to see her mother standing in the doorway, her arms crossed and her foot tapping with impatience. 

“Mother.” She clears her throat and wipes the drool from the corner of her mouth. “Good morning.”

“Bridget has just informed me that she will be departing us. Any information you can shed on this, my dear?”

“No.” Her mother’s eyebrows rise to her hairline. “Perhaps.”

“Your ladies in waiting are vital to your -”

“I do not require any more ladies in waiting, Mother.” She throws back the sheets and tiptoes across the cold floor, fussing at the fireplace until she can find the tools required to poke the incomplete flames to their best. “I have Betty and Cindy. That is all I require.”

The ladies in question bustle into the room, Cindy with her arms full of hoop skirts and corsets, Betty with a tray of sweet smelling tea. Her mother sighs, brushing her hands down her dress and stepping closer to her troublesome daughter. “Tradition dictates -”

“I do not care for tradition!”

“Why must you be so stubborn? Your father will not be pleased when he hears of this, and you will be most unhappy with his retaliation.”

But Michelle just busies herself pouring tea, allowing Betty to lead her to the dressing table.

“Father cannot scold me, not anymore. He loses that right at noon today.” Michelle winces as Cindy tugs a brush through her hair, but settles down to hide her smugness with the teacup. “After all, today _is_ my wedding day.”

The Queen floats across the room towards her in that way that only comes with years of practise, her steps silent and graceful. “I have yet to see you so excited for this monumental day. Could all those years of letter exchanges have finally bought you around to the importance of this union?”

“I have never been ignorant to the importance of my marriage,” Michelle says quietly, casting her eyes away from her own reflection. “If I were, do you think I would be here right now? Sacrificing my future for the demands of my father?”

“Michelle, mind your words!” Her mother tuts and takes the hairbrush from Cindy, who gives her shoulder a supportive squeeze as she busies herself instead with the wedding jewels. The hairbrush is a little more firm in the hands of her mother, a little less empathetic when it comes to the tangles created during a sleepless night. “Prince Edward will not appreciate having such an untamed wife.”

Michelle winces as her hair is separated, prepared for the sweeping braids that will curl around her Grandmother’s crown. “Ned is nothing like Father. He appreciates my mind just fine.”

“ _Edward_ is a young man who does not yet know what it takes to rule, or why a free spirit for a Queen could be to his detriment. I’ve spent eighteen years trying to curb that in you, trying to prepare you, yet it is clear I have failed. But it will not be I who deals with such repercussions. You, my dear, are the one who will walk into your destiny blind.”

Michelle must bite her lip, must tamper down the fight she wants so badly to have after so many years, for what is the point? It will not change the inevitability of this day. It will not give her what she truly wants, what she is really ‘destined’ for - to be Queen not of a kingdom that is not her own, but to take what should be her birthright and rule over the people she so dearly wants to help. Gender does not matter when it comes to the capability of bearing the crown - many of the kingdoms across the water do not prescribe to such outdated rules. But the King is a traditionalist to the utmost extreme, as was his father and his father before him. A bright mind and sharp instincts mean nothing when it comes from a woman, even when her brother shows such little promise.

Except her mother cannot possibly understand all of this, so deep into the same fate that awaits her that she cannot see what might have been.

So Michelle chooses to stay silent. Just this once.

“For what it’s worth,” Betty whispers into her ear once her mother has been called away to check the place settings in the great hall, right before she tugs hard on the strings of her corset, “I know you’re going to be an amazing Queen.”

* * *

The scent of thousands of flowers makes her queasy as she walks down the aisle. 

The strength of her father’s grip as he half-drags her has her hiding a grimace behind her practised smile.

The hundreds of eyes makes her skin crawl, has her struggling for breath in a way that has nothing to do with the tight cut of her marital gown.

But Ned is grinning at her, his hands fidgeting with the striking cuffs of his morning coat, and she remembers what matters most.

Not the weight of the crown on her head, not the expectations of what is to come from this day; but what waits for her at the end of this.

Because somewhere deep in the castle grounds, hidden away from the high society that is here in witness, there is a boy.

A boy who, once upon a time, made her laugh. A boy who has spent five years continuing to make her laugh. A boy who means the world to her.

An exchanging of vows. It is all it will take to see him once more.

“I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Oop. I did a thing.
> 
> Listen here, my good friends. We do not accept Ned hate in this house. He's as much a victim as Michelle is of my imagination. Let that be a warning going forward - and also know that I could never, EVER, make Ned anything less than the perfect boy he truly is.
> 
> Also - HAPPY NEW YEAR! Good riddance to 2020. I wish you all a happier, easier 2021.
> 
> @mjonesing on Tumblr as always!


End file.
